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‘And he couldn’t have that.’ Blake nodded. ‘So now we know.’ He stood up and said to O’Dowd, ‘Play this down. Trust me. Give us time and you’ll get the story Kate wanted.’ He held out his hand. ‘A bargain?’
‘It sure as hell is.’
On the way downstairs, Parker’s mobile rang. He answered and nodded. ‘We’ll be there.’ He turned to Blake. ‘Abruzzi. She’s sorted out the videotapes. Wondered if you’d like a look.’
‘Why not?’ Blake said.
The study at Barrow Street was much more ordered now, the videotapes arranged neatly on the shelves.
Helen Abruzzi said, ‘I’ve put the movies on the top two shelves, the language courses and self-help tapes on the bottom two shelves.’ She turned to Blake. ‘There is one that refers to you, sir. That’s what I thought you’d want to know.’
Blake said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘The label says: Blake’s parents.’
Blake was silent for a moment. ‘My parents died when I was very young. I never knew them. And my wife knew that better than anyone. I’d appreciate you turning that tape on, Sergeant.’
He sat down, Parker stood behind him, and the screen flickered.
‘This is just a fail-safe, Blake, my darling, in case anything goes wrong. As someone who was the pride of the FBI and whatever you get up to there at the White House, I know you’ll find this one way or the other.’ She smiled at him. ‘These are bad people that I’m trying to expose, the Solazzo family. Don Marco’s like Brando resurrected for Godfather IV, cold, calm, and businesslike, even while he seems like your favourite grandfather.’
‘Jesus!’ Harry Parker said.
‘But Don Marco is old-school. Jack Fox is different. The genuine all-American hero and Wall Street golden boy. You’d think he was some Boston blue blood, but instead he’s a cold-blooded psychopath, the worst of them all. Get in his way and you’re dead. Well, I’m going to get him. Lull him to sleep with the first article, then wham! He’ll never know what hit him.’
Blake hammered a clenched fist on a coffee table and Helen Abruzzi stopped the tape.
‘What in the hell are you doing?’
‘I’m giving you a chance to breathe deeply. I’m also finding you a drink. Trust me, sir.’
Parker put a hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s right, Blake.’
Helen Abruzzi returned with a glass. ‘Vodka, it’s all I could find. It was in the freezer.’
‘That’s what she liked, cold vodka.’ Blake drank it down. ‘Okay, let’s get on with it.’
The screen flickered again. ‘I was real lucky. I found a guy called Sammy Goff, who used to do accounting work for Jack Fox. Nice guy, very gay and very ill. AIDS, which is why Fox threw him out. I was having lunch with Fox in Manhattan one day. He left early, and Goff came up to me. “You look like a nice lady,” he said, “so watch it. He’s not good for you.”’
A telephone sounded in the background and she went to answer it and returned.
‘Okay, Goff was dying and bitter. I cultivated him, and with three martinis in him he sounded off good, and what he told me was special. Here’s the lead. Fox is front man for the family. Smart, very clever, but he’s always pushing for more. He’s played the market with family money and lost, particularly with the Asian crisis. How much the Don knows about this is unknown to me. He’s getting by because he’s responsible for the Solazzo flagship casino in London, the Colosseum. The cash flow from that is critical to him. He can’t milk the family’s large interests, the drug market in Eastern Europe and Russia, for example, but he has personal cash flow that helps keep him afloat. There’s a warehouse in Brooklyn called Hadley’s Depository. The one thing they store there is whisky. Cheap liquor. The booze is watered down and then sold to the clubs at a huge profit margin.’
Parker said, ‘I can’t believe the Don doesn’t know.’
Blake waved a hand and Katherine continued. ‘Another sideline in London is he’s been involved with some heavy gangsters called the Jago brothers. Armed robbery, that kind of stuff, Sammy Goff said, always a source of instant cash. Fox’s bad investments in the Far East are draining him. More serious, he’s been into arms dealing, too, specifically for the IRA. He helped somebody called Brendan Murphy, a real hardliner who didn’t like the peace process, not only to buy arms but to build a concrete bunker in County Louth in the Irish Republic. There’s everything there from mortars to the kind of machine gun that can shoot down an Army helicopter. Oh, and lots of Semtex.’
‘My God,’ Helen Abruzzi said softly.
‘Goff told me there was also some link with Beirut via Murphy. Arms for Saddam, that sort of thing. He didn’t have many details on that. The other thing he told me was that Fox doesn’t own a London house. He usually stays in a suite at the Dorchester, but he does have an indulgence. An old castle and estate in Cornwall, in England. Very rural, very remote. Believe it or not, it’s called Hellsmouth. Somewhere near Land’s End.’
A telephone sounded in the background again. There was some confusion. She was off-screen, then back quickly.
‘It’s a hell of a story, thanks to Sammy Goff. However, although I’d like to expose it, Blake, life is uncertain, and the other day poor dying drunken Sammy was the victim of a hit-and-run driver. Now, was that an accident? I don’t think so. He just knew too much.’
The screen seemed to jump and her voice scrambled for a moment. Things returned to normal. She smiled brightly.
‘So there you are, my darling Blake. I’d like to believe the good guys win, but life can be such a bitch. If you’re watching this, that probably means that the bad guys won this time.’ The smile slipped for a moment, then came back, a little more tentative this time. ‘Take care, and remember, in spite of everything, I’ve always loved you.’
Helen Abruzzi switched off. Blake sat there, eyes dark. ‘I’d appreciate you running that back, Sergeant.’
‘It’s evidence, sir.’
‘Just get the man a copy,’ Parker told her.
Blake got up and walked to the window. After a moment, he turned. ‘Okay, Harry, arrange a meeting with the bastard.’
‘I’ll have to check with the District Attorney.’
‘Try the Pope if you like, but I want to face Jack Fox.’
‘Maybe you should take time, sir,’ Abruzzi told him.
Blake took a document from an inside pocket and unfolded it. ‘You’ve never seen one of these, Sergeant. Harry has. It’s a Presidential warrant. You belong to me, not NYPD, and so does he. Now let’s get moving.’
It was the following morning when Parker picked up the Buick at the Plaza Hotel. The woman in the rear of the police car was very personable, around forty and smartly dressed, a briefcase on the floor beside her.
Blake sat in front and Parker said, ‘Assistant District Attorney Madge McGuire.’
She shook hands as they drove away. ‘I understand you’re FBI, Mr Johnson.’
‘Used to be.’ He turned to Parker. ‘Did you tell her?’
‘How could I?’
Blake took out his Presidential warrant and passed it across. Madge McGuire read it. ‘Jesus Christ.’
She handed it back and Blake put it in his pocket. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘We’re wasting our time. Dammit, Mr Johnson, we all know the reality, but we can’t prove it. You’ll see – Fox will be all sweetness and light: any way he can help, he will, but when we finish we’ll be no better off than when we started. His attorney, Carter Whelan, will be there, by the way. That one is a serpent.’
‘Fine by me.’
‘Okay. I’m bound by that warrant, but let me do my job, Mr Johnson.’
‘Be my guest.’
When they got there, Fox was sitting behind a desk, wearing an excellent navy blue suit, his hair swept back from his handsome face. The man who sat beside him, Carter Whelan, was small, balding, and wore a black suit.
‘I’m Madge McGuire, Assistant District Attorney, and this is Captain Harry Parker.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss McGuire. I’m sure you know my attorney, Carter Whelan. And you are aware, I’m sure, that I’m an attorney myself. May I ask who this other gentleman is?’
‘Blake Johnson, also an attorney,’ Blake told him. ‘I believe you knew my wife.’
Whelan said, ‘He’s no right to be here.’
Fox cut in. ‘I’ve no objection. I was distressed to know of Katherine Johnson’s untimely end. You have my sympathy.’
Parker said, ‘Evidence would suggest that Mrs Johnson’s death was no accident. Could you assist us in that matter, sir?’
Whelan said, ‘Jack, you don’t need to answer any of this.’
‘Why not?’ Fox shrugged. ‘I’ve nothing to hide. I knew Katherine Johnson, gave her interviews, and she did an article about me for Truth magazine. It’s in the latest edition. Quite flattering, actually.’
‘Except for the references to the Solazzo family.’
‘Just how well did you know her, sir?’ Parker asked.
Fox said, ‘I knew her well.’
‘How well?’
Fox seemed to struggle with himself. ‘All right, we had a brief affair. It only lasted a few weeks, and I didn’t want to mention it, because I didn’t want to damage her reputation in any way. For God’s sake, the lady is dead.’
It was an impressive performance.
Madge McGuire said, ‘Did you ever know her to use heroin?’
Fox struggled with himself again, got up, went to the window, turned, face working. ‘Yes, once. I caught her at her apartment. I was shocked, tried to remonstrate. She said she’d only just started and promised to stop, but…I guess she didn’t.’
Whelan said, ‘She was obviously not very practised with it and must have accidentally given herself too much, or had a particularly lethal batch.’
‘Still, there are certain anomalies,’ Parker told him.
‘Which have nothing to do with my client.’ Whelan turned to Madge McGuire. ‘Are we finished here?’
‘Yes,’ Madge said. ‘That’ll do for now. Thank you for your cooperation.’
She stood up, and Fox said, ‘Hasn’t Mr Johnson anything to say?’
Blake stood up, face pale, eyes very dark. ‘Not really. It’s all pretty clear,’ and he turned and walked out.
In the car, Madge said, ‘There’s no case, people. It’s not even worth trying to bring one. He just gave the explanation for the lack of track marks – she’d just started shooting and didn’t know what she was doing.’
‘But if she’d shot up before, wouldn’t there be some tracks?’
‘If it was only a few times, not necessarily. Whelan would laugh it out of court, Mr Johnson. There’s evil here and we don’t know the half of it, but there’s nothing we can do,’ Madge told him.
‘It gets harder the older I get.’ Parker shook his head. ‘I’ve been a cop long enough to know when something stinks, and this surely does.’
Blake lit a cigarette and leaned back. ‘But what about justice?’
‘What do you mean?’ Madge asked.
‘What happens if it isn’t done, and the law doesn’t work? Is someone entitled to take the law into his own hands?’
‘Well, I know one thing,’ Parker told him. ‘It wouldn’t be the law they were taking.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘What will you do, Blake?’
‘Go back to Washington. See the President. Arrange a funeral.’ The car pulled in at the Plaza. He shook hands with Parker and turned to Madge. ‘Many thanks, Miss McGuire.’
He got out and went up the steps to the hotel. As the car moved away, Madge said, ‘Are you thinking what I am, Harry?’
‘If you mean, God help Jack Fox, yes.’
At the office, Fox waited for a computer printout he’d ordered on Blake Johnson. It finally appeared and he was reading through it when there was a knock on the door and Falcone entered.
‘Just checking, Signore. Is there anything I can do?’
Fox passed him the printout. Falcone read it. ‘Quite a record.’
‘It sure as hell is. War hero, FBI, took a bullet saving the President. But there’s a block there. What’s he been doing lately? I’ll have to get my top people to work on it.’
‘Is he a threat?’
‘Of course he is. He didn’t believe me for a moment about his wife. Aldo, I’ve stared at the face of the enemy in Iraq, and I know what I saw in Blake Johnson’s eyes. There was no rage in them, only revenge. He’ll be coming, and we must be ready.’
‘Always, Signore.’
Falcone went out, and Fox went to the window as a flurry of sleet brushed across Manhattan. Strange, he wasn’t afraid. He was excited.
4 (#ulink_32eaaf4b-6415-50f9-bdd2-5612ac1e080d)
Fox had an impeccable source when it came to computer-accessing: an ageing lady named Maud Jackson, who was a retired professor in communication sciences at MIT, seventy years old – and a confirmed gambler. A nice Jewish widow who lived in Crown Heights, she was always chronically short of money, because she was an easy mark and liked the game anyway.
Fox met her in a local bar by appointment. She sat there, sucking on a cigarette and drinking Chablis, while he told her about Blake Johnson.
‘The thing is, there’s a block on the guy.’
‘Like any roadblock, Jack, it’s made to be gone around.’
‘Exactly, and who better than you to do it?’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, but if this guy used to be FBI and there’s a block, this is serious stuff.’
